


Quality Quidditch Brooms

by emansil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 12:26:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emansil/pseuds/emansil
Summary: Summary:   Bollocks, he couldn’t believe the coach had given him shop duty as punishment.  Again.





	Quality Quidditch Brooms

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: (if applicable) thrihyrne , thank you so much-great as always.
> 
> Written years ago as a companion piece for [ "Radiance which was Once so Bright" ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/984157)

Quality Quidditch Brooms

 

Hurriedly entering the shop, Oliver made sure the door slammed behind him. Waving hello to the morning clerk, he rushed to the back where the brooms sold in the shop were made. The door closing behind him did not quite cut off her quick laughter. Bollocks, he couldn’t believe the coach had given him shop duty as punishment. Again.

Granted, he had been close to three hours late for practice. Granted, the coach was a highly anal-retentive git who seemed to think tardiness was next to- well, there was nothing worse in the coach’s mind.

But really, didn’t he understand? Had he never been in love? Had he never been unable to get enough of the person lying next to you? 

Probably not, Oliver harrumphed to himself as he put on the goggles, heavy work gloves, and the coveralls that would protect him from the flying splinters.

Two full days of cutting, sanding, and polishing at Quality Quidditch Supplies was his punishment for being late. The thought of all that polishing brought a smile to his face and a reaction from another part of his anatomy as he thought of Cedric, and the number of times they had polished each other two nights ago, which was the reason for his lateness to practice yesterday. 

Best not think of that, he determined. He’d give himself away, and the others in the factory loved to tease him about him and Cedric. 

That had been a turn up for the books. The first time he had come to work in the factory, the coach had introduced him as a poofter. Coach had explained the reason for Oliver’s coming to work there to the other workers. 

“He can’t keep his cock out of his boyfriend Cedric’s arse, or maybe Cedric can’t keep his cock out his arse. Who knows?” The coach had laughed as he departed from the workroom. Oliver had felt his face turning red with anger and humiliation and felt it was actually possible to die from embarrassment. 

You could have knocked him over with a Wingardium Leviosa when the door slammed behind the coach, and the overwhelming majority of the workers had given the coach the two-fingered salute. They’d told Oliver they didn’t care whose cock was in whose arse. They were just pleased that someone’s cock was getting some action. Most of the full-time workers were old Squibs who had been working at the factory for many years. They loved to sit around at either elevenses or tea, and get the full detail on his and Cedric’s activities; many of them moaning and rubbing at their own erections if he went into detail of their activities. 

Returning back to the subject and duties at hand, Oliver was very careful to be sure the brooms manufactured under his care were splinter free. Any splinter left in them, and it would be his arse. 

Actually it would be their arse first, he thought with wry humour, but he’d learned that payback was hell in the world of professional Quidditch. Thankfully there were few instances of any splinters being left in his workmanship. Oliver had worked in the factory so many times that he was getting quite proficient at the job.

It was all worth it though, every last one of them: every tree trunk that came through that he cut to the correct width of the broom, every plank he cut to the right length for the particular patron. Each and every splinter of wood that came flying out from the sander the factory used. The individual knots of wood he spent hours hand sanding and planing to be as smooth as was humanly possible. 

These were Quality Quidditch Brooms, all hand-made from start to finish. Only one person was allowed to touch each broom, the person who made it. Magic was not allowed. That was the reason Squibs were employed, the owners did not want to take a chance of someone attempting a shortcut by use of magic. Oliver had been rather forcefully reminded of this the first time he had attempted it. He'd been knocked on his arse; first by the factory itself that was warded against use of magic, and then by at least two of his co-workers. The employees took tremendous pride in the products they crafted. 

Oh yes, Oliver thought as his arse twitched with the memory. It was well worth it: Cedric between his legs, raised up on his arms, his face flushed with exertion, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes a storm cloud grey as his cock thrust into Oliver’s body. Just thinking about it sent a memory to Oliver’s cock which immediately stood to attention inside his coveralls. 

Oh gods, I'm going to have to do something about this and soon or I'll take the piss for it.

"Hey mates, come look at Wood here! Got himself quite an erection. Must be thinking about Cedric! You could hang a polishing cloth off that thing, no need for pockets when you're carrying around something like that, eh Oliver!" one of the workers yelled out, slapping Oliver on the back with a loud burst of laughter.

Oh fuck too late.


End file.
